The Great Divide

by Thomas Fleming

  Hamilton did not realize he was talking about aedes egypti. In 1803, no one knew the source of the devastating outbreaks of yellow fever that had wrecked the French army in Santo Domingo—and decimated Philadelphia and other cities. At one point, Jefferson blamed the disease on crowding and lack of sanitation, and declared that cities would soon be a thing of the past.

  For Hamilton, the best explanation was “the kind interpositions of an overruling Providence.” There is a hint of sadness, even regret in these words. The ex-secretary of the treasury may have foreseen that President Thomas Jefferson was about to overshadow President George Washington for decades to come.

  In Paris, Robert Livingston was a disappointed man. He arranged for friends to publish his memorial to Talleyrand, arguing against the wisdom of France’s trying to colonize Louisiana. He tried to alter the record of when he first discussed the purchase with Talleyrand, making it before Monroe had landed at Le Havre. But he could not escape the date of his exultant letter to Secretary of State Madison about Talleyrand’s offer on August 13—the day Monroe arrived in Paris.

  Monroe, perhaps advised by the canny Madison, avoided arguing back. Instead, he humbly declared in a letter to Virginia’s senators that he deserved no special credit for Louisiana. Napoleon’s decision to sell was entirely the product of President Jefferson’s masterful diplomacy. Madison chimed in, criticizing Livingston for not waiting until Monroe reached Paris before negotiating. If they had joined forces “under the solemnity of a joint and extraordinary embassy,” they might have won a lower price. It need hardly be added that these were words that Monroe felt free to circulate to his supporters.

  Livingston had let more than a few friends know that he hoped Jefferson would drop the tainted Aaron Burr and ask the Hudson River aristocrat to be his vice president in 1804. That would position Livingston to run for president in 1808—a possibility that collided with the ambitions of both Madison and Monroe.

  Another Livingston gave everyone a glimpse of the political hardball these self-proclaimed Virginia idealists were ready to play. Robert Livingston’s brother, Edward, was mayor of New York. In the summer of 1803, he discovered a clerk in his office had embezzled a shocking amount of money. He asked Jefferson’s attorney general, Levi Lincoln, if he could have a stay on repaying it. The answer was an icy no. Mayor Livingston had to resign and sell every piece of property he owned to come up with the cash. He had some very harsh words to say about President Jefferson’s ingratitude for his family’s support in the 1800 elections.4

  In his presidential mansion, Thomas Jefferson was having thoughts that might nullify all these political maneuvers. At a cabinet meeting on July 16, 1803, he told his chief advisors that he felt the Constitution should be amended before they could include Louisiana in the union. He asked them what they thought of a proposed amendment, which he had circulated among them. It was a long, complicated affair that would have divided Louisiana into white and Indian territories.

  The cabinet officers hemmed and hawed. It was apparent that no one, including James Madison, agreed with the President. They pointed out that the treaty required ratification within six months of its signing in Paris. That meant the United States had to sign it by October 30. There was no way that an amendment could be circulated and voted on by the seventeen states now in the Union in the next two and a half months.

  President Jefferson semi-backed down. He called Congress into special session on October 17. He ordered William C.C. Claiborne, governor of the Mississippi Territory, to summon some of his militiamen to occupy New Orleans. He told General James Wilkinson to support him with a detachment of regulars. But the president continued to fuss over an amendment. In a long letter to his friend Senator John C. Breckinridge of Kentucky, he proposed a new plan.

  Jefferson admitted there was no time for a prior constitutional amendment. “The fugitive occurrence” of Napoleon’s offer (a covert admission that he had had nothing to do with it) made acceptance a virtual necessity for “the good of their country.” But he wondered if after the treaty was ratified, he should ask Congress to join him in an appeal to the nation to approve it with a constitutional amendment.5

  A letter from Robert Livingston changed everyone’s mind. Napoleon seemed close to deciding against the sale. He was grousing that the banks were too slow in delivering the bonds that would pay for the territory. Also worrisome was an explosion of wrath from Spain, because Napoleon had violated his solemn promise not to cede Louisiana to a third party. Livingston urged President Jefferson to “let nothing prevent you from immediate ratification.”

  The President rushed a letter to Senator Breckinridge, begging him to say nothing about an amendment. Cabinet members got letters imposing the same silence. Even after these precautions, the man who loved to legislate wrote another, shorter draft of an amendment and sent it to his cabinet. Again, they told him it was a waste of time.

  Then came a clincher. Senator Wilson Cary Nicholas of Virginia, Jefferson’s collaborator on the Kentucky and Virginia resolutions, had heard about the proposed amendment. He begged the President to forget it. The Democratic-Republicans in Congress were splitting into “Old” Republicans and “National” Republicans. The Old Republicans were the radicals that Chief Justice John Marshall had called terrorists. Cary said if they heard about an amendment, they might refuse to approve the treaty.

  An agitated President Jefferson, flung back to losing so many arguments with Hamilton during President Washington’s presidency, exclaimed that implied powers reduced the Constitution to “blank paper.” But there was no other justification for the Louisiana Purchase. It was the death knell of his strict construction theory—a largely invisible triumph that pleased at least one watchful critic, Alexander Hamilton.6

  On October 17, 1803, Congress convened in special session. The President sent them a carefully worded message, urging the Senate’s approval of the treaty, and requesting the House to approve the $16 million price. He credited the acquisition of Louisiana to the “enlightened government of France”—praise of First Consul Bonaparte’s dictatorship that must have caused at least a modicum of pain for a man who had seen the French Revolution as the birth of a worldwide triumph of liberté. Also extolled was “uncontrolled navigation” of the Mississippi and the elimination of “all dangers to our peace.” The President declared he was relying on “the wisdom of Congress” to validate his decision.

  Ironically, the man who wrote the message was President Washington’s former ghostwriter, James Madison. He made sure there was no hint of constitutional scruples anywhere in the smooth prose. The Senate, led by Senator Wilson Cary Nicholas, approved the treaty the day after they read it. An attempt by the Federalists to call for all the pertinent papers was instantly crushed, and the solons voted their approval by an overwhelming 24–7.

  The House of Representatives was a different story. The Old Republicans were in force there. When Federalist Roger Griswold of Connecticut called for background papers, Majority Leader John Randolph tried to silence him with an immediate vote. It passed by a hairbreadth 59-57. The next day, Griswold mentioned the word that the President had tried so hard to suppress. He asked how they could approve the treaty without a constitutional amendment. The “federal village” was apparently not that different from the Washington, D.C metropolis of the twenty-first century, with its inability to conceal secrets.

  Griswold added an attack from another angle. How could the Jeffersonians incorporate the people living in Louisiana into the Union? Louisiana should be governed as a territory, the way the British ruled Jamaica or India. A desperate Majority Leader Randolph repudiated this argument with the rhetorical equivalent of a roundhouse right to Griswold’s Federalist chin. He declared the Constitution’s implied powers gave the government the power to incorporate Great Britain or France, if the opportunity arose. He called for a vote and the Democratic-Republicans, irritated by Griswold’s tone of Federalist superiority, agreed to pay Napoleon his $16 million
by a party line vote of 90–25. In New York, we can be sure Alexander Hamilton gleefully declared strict construction was now dead, embalmed, and buried.

  Another argument erupted in the Senate when the solons discussed implementing the treaty. Former Secretary of State Timothy Pickering, now a Massachusetts senator, claimed that accepting Louisiana required the unanimous vote of every state in the Union. Some Democratic-Republicans, with their frequent apostrophes to the will of the people, were flustered by this contention. Senator Breckinridge of Kentucky’s answer was as unconstitutional as an American politician could get: he warned all and sundry that if the treaty were rejected, the western states would secede from the Union and start their own country. The vote was 24–5 for implementing the treaty.

  Knowing how crucial time had become, President Jefferson rushed a copy of the ratified treaty to Chargé Pichon. He exchanged it with a copy he had received from Paris. Pichon then hired messengers to take the confirmation of the sale to New Orleans, along with orders to hand over the city and the territory to the United States. Meanwhile, Jefferson persuaded Congress to authorize a call for eighty thousand militiamen to overcome any and all resistance that might erupt in Louisiana. Postmaster Gideon Granger launched an early version of the pony express to get the necessary documents to Natchez, where the American army of occupation was assembling.

  Accompanying the documents was a proclamation by the federal government, warning against resisting the army. Rumors had reached Washington, D.C. of a possible uprising in New Orleans. Along with threats of meeting force with overwhelming force, the author—possibly Secretary of State Madison—tried to calm the restless locals with soothing words. He described President Jefferson as “a philosopher who prefers justice to conquest.” With their cooperation, the kindhearted President would make Louisiana “a garden of peace.”

  For the next seven weeks, President Jefferson and everyone else in Washington, D.C. fretted over what might be happening in New Orleans. On Christmas Day came hopeful news. Spain had handed over the territory to the French on November 30, with no resistance. This was a huge relief. Thanks to Pichon, there was no doubt that the French would comply with the treaty. Now the only question to be answered was whether the citizens of New Orleans would greet the U.S. army of occupation under General Wilkinson with cheers or gunshots.

  While the Americans fretted, on Santo Domingo the final chapter of Napoleon’s 1802 invasion was unfolding. Until Bonaparte declared war on England, there seemed to be at least a possibility of victory. Reinforced by another fifteen thousand men, General Donatien de Rochambeau was gradually regaining control of the situation. When news of the renewed global war reached the Caribbean, the British West Indies fleet headed for the island. They blasted French-held seaports and smuggled guns and ammunition to the black rebels.

  In August 1803, a desperate Rochambeau asked President Jefferson for a loan of $100,000 to save “the most beautiful possession of France.” With the Louisiana treaty on his desk, Jefferson did not reply. By October, Rochambeau was telling Pichon he needed a million francs a month to buy food and ammunition for his men. Once more, Jefferson and Madison ignored the French entreaties. A month later, with the French army reduced to eight thousand men (aedes egypti was still at work), Rochambeau surrendered his troops to the British fleet cruising offshore. It would be hard to imagine a more humiliating end to Napoleon’s dream of a restored French colonial empire.

  In New Orleans, the new French ruler, Prefect Pierre Clement Laussat, informed his mixture of French and Spanish subjects that they would soon be U.S. citizens. The Frenchman said that “the advent of war” [between France and England] had been the reason First Consul Napoleon has sold the territory to President Jefferson. He hailed the transaction as a “pledge of friendship” between the United States and France. He urged the Louisianans to participate in U.S. politics and foresaw a time when they could become a “preponderating influence” in the American government.

  In Natchez, General James Wilkinson told Governor Claiborne that there was no need for the six thousand militia he was about to summon for the march to New Orleans. Wilkinson had visited New Orleans a few months earlier and cast a trained eye on the pathetic Spanish garrison of three hundred soldiers. On any given day, half of them were either in prison or in the hospital being treated for venereal disease and similar disorders of garrison life. These were the men that President Jefferson claimed it would have cost $100 million to conquer. Wilkinson ordered 450 U.S. regulars to board boats and join him and Governor Claiborne for a voyage down the Mississippi to the soon-to-be “Queen City” at the mouth of the mighty river.

  Wilkinson was looking forward to conferring with Spanish officials in New Orleans. They were $20,000 behind in their secret service payments to him. Spain was as bankrupt as Bonaparte had been before he sold Louisiana. The General was delighted with President Jefferson’s purchase. He was sure it guaranteed all his back pay and a lot more cash to come. The acquisition brought the Americans much too close to the gold mines of Mexico. Madrid would be eager to get his advice on how to keep the wild men of the West at bay.

  The General and his regulars met no resistance. They were soon standing at attention in the riverside Place d’Armes while the French tricolor came down and the Stars and Stripes ascended the official flagpole. The soldiers fired a volley, saluting the occasion, and cannon boomed on dozens of Americans ships anchored in the river. A cheer rose from a small group of Americans in the watching crowd. A French eyewitness reported it only made “more gloomy the silence and quietness” of the rest of the spectators. Prefect Laussat summed up the prevailing emotion by bursting into tears.

  Once more, Postmaster Granger’s early version of the Pony Express went to work. Riding day and night, one of their durable band reached Washington, D.C. with the good news on January 14, 1804. President Jefferson instantly informed the National Intelligencer and sent an exultant message to Congress. The newspaper struck the leitmotif of the celebration in its rapturous editorial: “Never have mankind contemplated so vast and important an accession of empire by means so pacific and just.”7

  Ignored by these words were the thousands of blacks who had died fighting to defend Santo Domingo against Napoleon’s army. The means by which they—with the help of aedes egypti—had enabled America to acquire Louisiana were neither pacific nor just. One wonders what Americans would have said if they had known that France’s imperial venture had had President Jefferson’s enthusiastic approval.

  In the next few days, the Intelligencer published numerous fictionalized reports of how delighted the citizens of Louisiana were to become Americans. On Friday, January 26, over a hundred Democratic Republican politicians, led by the President, Vice President, and the cabinet, gathered at Stelle’s Hotel on Capitol Hill for a celebratory banquet. While three cannon from the Navy Yard shook the windows with a salute, a band played a new song, “Jefferson’s March,” written for the occasion. A chorus sang an ode of praise for the President. Its signature stanza was:

  To Jefferson, belov’d of heaven

  May golden peace be ever given.8

  It is hard to resist noting all these acclamations were a trifle “monarchical.” If such tributes had been paid to President Washington, letters from Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe would have flung that term in all directions. Benjamin Franklin Bache and James Thomson Callender would have published indignant essays. Philip Freneau would have again emerged from the wilds of South Jersey to screech his alarm.

  After the President and Vice President left the banquet, a toast was drunk to Jefferson. It was prefaced by three cheers. Someone suggested a toast to Vice President Burr. There were no cheers. Not a few senators and congressmen declined to drink it. Relations between Aaron Burr and the President had been sliding downhill for some time. There was talk of the Vice President forming a third party, composed of Federalists and moderate Democratic-Republicans who were put off by the rhetoric of the radical branch of the party.
>
  A lot of people, including President Jefferson, were watching the Vice President closely. When a Federalist senator, a colleague of ex-Secretary of State Pickering, told Burr that New England planned to secede and form a separate nation, the Vice President did not say a word against the idea. Senator William Plumer of New Hampshire became convinced that the Vice President not only thought such a severance would take place—“he thought it was necessary that it should.” Behind these words and plans was a growing fear of “imperial Virginia,” as one Federalist leader put it. The Old Dominion and her southern satellite states would be in charge of settling and governing Louisiana, reducing the rest of the country to a mere appendage.9

  Ignoring these gloomy Federalist prophets, the Democratic-Republicans continued to celebrate Louisiana. In late January 1804, no less than five hundred splendidly dressed men and woman gathered for a ball in nearby Georgetown. On the rear wall was a huge illuminated portrait of President Jefferson, framed by military flags. Hard-pressed to see Republican simplicity in this opulent crowd, the National Intelligencer said the “plain unblemished walls” were a statement unto themselves. They were devoid of “spectacles that celebrate the achievements of warriors.” The words left little doubt that the President’s admirers were determined to elevate their hero to a level of reverence well above that enjoyed by that well-known warrior, the late George Washington.

  Few Americans paid any attention to the stupendous preparations to invade England that Napoleon Bonaparte was undertaking in France, with the help of America’s $16 million payment for Louisiana. In camps around the port of Boulogne, on the English Channel, “The Army of England” was already two hundred thousand men strong. Elsewhere, almost as many workmen were building two thousand flatboats, each equipped with a cannon, to blast their way through defenses on British beaches. All Europe watched with awe as frenzied visions of total victory coruscated through France. The disaster of Santo Domingo was as forgotten as the abandoned army in Egypt.